Spun with Gold
by Ally Charlotte Piper
Summary: A story of love, torn away by a lie, and a fable of insecurity. The tragedy behind the chip in a teacup. Rating subject to change.
1. PreEmma Gold, PreStory Forgetting

Spun with Straw

_A/N: Why hullo there! If any of my Hatterites are reading this, I know, I know, I apologise. I'll work on Alice next, I swear. This one came to me during lecture today and I figured, what the hey! I do not own Belle or Rumples, though I certianly wish I did. They are the creative property of ABC's Once Upon a Time. I'm only borrowing them, chicklets. _

_Read, review, take out to a party or slaughter, it matters not. _

_Tata my dahlings._

_Always,_

_|ACP|_

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Chapter 1: Pre-Emma Gold, Pre-Story Forgetting

Mr. Gold walked with purpose. A talented feat, considering his limp. The end of the cane snapped against the floor of the hospital, but nobody looked up, though _everyone_ noticed it. The noise had a certain sharpness to it, a bite that resolutely forbade anyone but the most daring to look up. It was a known sound, and its owner was well feared. There was, after all, a reason for _everything_ about Mr. Gold. Today, the reason behind his stride was Regina. She was at it again, campaigning for her assumed image of a caring mayor by visiting invalids in their sickbeds. She'd done the same thing as Queen. _If it isn't broken, don't fix it._ The method had never failed her yet. He had been "summoned" by her, or at least so he let her think. He'd come of his own accord, as he always did, and deep down she knew it. He found her standing in the coma ward, lightly terrorizing the woman that called herself Mary Margaret. _Some things never change_. he thought, leaning on the gold head of his cane and waiting patiently for the Mayor to notice him. He'd have felt bad for Snow White if he hadn't known it was ultimately her fault the Queen was this way. _Her fault we're here._

The life in Storybrooke suited Mr. Gold, but he did miss the real world occasionally. Still, at least here he could keep a very close eye on all the subjects of his deals, rather than zipping about all the kingdoms in a constant haze of foul-smelling smoke. Although, if he was being honest, he knew he could've just held court in Dark Castle if he had wanted to in that other world. But that would've required staying there, staying and seeing the rapidlydeteriorating state of everything he could've had. Everything remained exactly as she'd left it, everything except the shattered cabinet of useless trinkets and the teacup that sat in all its chipped glory in a place of honour.

Regina finally noticed him, and sent the poor woman away with a mock smile and a single word of dismissal. He mimicked her smile as she approached, well versed in the cold, meaningless act they would play. Still, deep inside his bones he felt the harrowing fatigue that always came when Regina wanted something from him creeping up. Mr. Gold may have been the more powerful of the two, but he was certainly not the more enduring. Not anymore. "Madam Mayor." he said politely, a frosted dislike buried beneath every syllable. "Mr. Gold. So glad you could make it." her eyes, he thought, were oddly a brighter shade than usual. It would seem that torturing her once-stepdaughter had put the world's most wearsome, evil woman in a pleasant humour. Behind them slept Prince James, unconscious in his curse-induced coma.

_Idiot children. Thinking they could outrun the Queen_. In the end, even he hadn't been able to. "Walk with me." Regina commanded, but she did at least have the decency and common sense to _pretend_ that she was asking. He nodded and gestured with his cane for her to lead the way, which she did of habit. _Royals_. They turned as one to make their way towards the exit of the building. Regina was chattering on about some city project she wanted him to back, or some person she wanted him to keep an eye on because for some obscure reason her idiot mirror-man couldn't do it. He didn't really care which. Gold hated coming to the hospital. Every time he passed the area surrounding the receptionist's desk, he got an uncomfortable lurch in the pit of his gut. Not the most pleasant of sensations: like he was forgetting something.

But he didn't forget. He _never_ forgot.

That was, after all, part of the deal he'd struck.

And Mr. Gold _always_ kept his word.

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_A/N: Whatcha think? Good, bad? Any criticism I'd be happy to take, I'm a big girl. I need to know where to improve so I can get to it. _

_ Thank you for your time! _

_ La, lovelies. Always,_

_ |ACP|_


	2. What happened before

Spun with Gold

_A/N: My goodness you guys work fast in finding this stuff. I had planned on saving this update till tomorrow, but I've set that aside as an Alice day, seeing as I have, for the moment, decided to play hide and seek with my DVD copy. It's kind of winning. So here you go, ahead of schedule. _

_Read, review, sneer, or sparkle, as you wish. _

_Always my loves,_

_|ACP|_

Chapter 2: What happened before

He wasn't late. He was making them wait. There was, in fact, a difference. Rumplestiltskin was summonable, sure. But he was slave to none. If he was to come at one's beck and call, he would do so on his own specific terms. He'd paid a heavy price long, long ago for that luxury, and he intended to exploit it heartily. The merchant Lord that had summoned him was being heavily beseiged by the Ogres, which was, admittedly, 98% Rumplestiltskin's fault. It was the least he could do to show up and demand payment to fix the poor, pathetic Lord's problems. This particular man had in fact called upon him before, once or twice long ago. The last time he'd seen the family, the Lord's small monstrosity of a daughter had tried to hold his hand every time it came into her vicious little eyesight. The thing had just lost her mother to disease, and for some intensely obscure reason saw in him a special confidant. She couldn't have been more than four then, trailing around in his footsteps, calling him "Rumblebumblin" through a mushy mouth and grinning wickedly with her little teeth every time she tried to take his hand and he yanked it away.

He'd had enough of baby spit coated hands when Bae was a child.

As an All-Powerful, Supremely Impressive Dark One, he shouldn't have been babysitting the little squishy thing at all. But those were the terms of the deal. In exchange for half his lands off in the mountains, including the summer palace (which was supposed to be cursed anyway), Rumblebumblin was officially a babysitter for the wet, pooping monstrosity. So, for a whole month, he humored the thing, playing with it and amusing it with magic tricks while her father made a (rather brave actually) attempt at getting the lands and finances back together, which had fallen to disrepair after his wife's sudden death. The creature's name was Belle, but the title didn't fit her. She was rather ugly to him: a constantly dirty mess of scrapes and owwies, with a perpetually tangled knot of brown hair and glinting blue eyes buried beneath the layers of dirt. The only clean thing about the monster was her hands. When Rumplestiltskin chanced to ask the child why, the thing was quiet for one blessed moment while she mulled over her response. "Mama's books are clean, and I don't wan' thems to die too, but I still wanna read them." she managed to squish out between her awkward little teeth.

Rumplestiltskin was quiet no himself, but only for a moment. Then he grinned and said, "Come along dearie. It's dinnertime if I'm not wrong-"

"And you're never wrong." the little girl finished, returning his grin, just happy to be included in a special phrase. It was, after all, one the scaly, grumpy man with the funny laugh said often. She reached for his hand once again, and this time he let her take it. After all, her hands were clean.

That was the last time he'd seen the pestulant little imp.

_They've stewed long enough now. _he decided, rising from his spinning wheel and vanishing in the customary puff of smoke, appearing with a flourish outside the heavy wooden castle doors. More than sixteen years had passed since last he entered these halls. Straightening his jacket and entirely too confident in his plots for his own good, he grinned widely and pushed the doors open.

~Later~

To say that Belle had grown up well would be a massive understatement. Her brown hair had finally met with a hairbrush sometime in the past sixteen years, and her long, thin brown nubs of eyelashes had darkened and thickened to frame those vivid eyes that now sat in a woman's face. Her baby fat had melted away, and boy but the golden gown she wore showed it. The bodice hugged her thin frame and accentuated _all_ of her curves. The sheer tightness of it made even Rumplstiltskin feel as though he were having trouble breathing, and he pitied the girl for being made to wear it. He remembered that the small demon spawn he sat for had resolutely refused any manner of dresses, and would've sooner burned the shoulder-sitting thing the woman before him wore than deign to wear it. She, however, didn't seem to remember him at all, which was understandable and really not important.

He'd known that she was his price even before he strode into the war-room, and had been prepared to see her progression into an equally wicked, homely young lady, but now he could fairly say the years had been intensely kind to the girl. But he certainly hadn't expected her to actually _agree_ to his insane terms. He was half counting on her protesting, if not for her own sake then for the sake of the apparent fiancee who was so eager to be turned inside out that he had opened negotiations by pointing his sword at the legendary Rumplestiltskin. He'd have liked to be able to raise his terms to her firstborn child (the trafficking of children from desperate dealers to husbandless nobility was on the rise after all) perhaps, or even the remaining years of the Lord's life. But she had agreed after all, looked him straight in the amber eyes and promised him the rest of her life in exchange for the safety of her people.

How exceedingly odd.

Belle sat in her cell downstairs now, cold and alone and probably stewing in pent up anger. Well good. The next day when he set her to her work cleaning the mess he'd managed to accumulate in sixteen years, she'd be sure to want to bargain her way out. And he'd be waiting, with a million options, each more nasty than the last. _But all_, he thought with a giggle as he caught sight of his reflection in a darkened window pane, _more attractive than living with me forever. _ Because forever was an awfully long time.


	3. In Making Deals

Spun with Gold

_A/N: I know, it's been awhile, but good news: I have a jobly thing that actually gives me cashy money! *cues parade and fanfare* Yay! _

_As usual, I don't own dear Rumples or Belle or any of that. And the reason I wait so long to update on these running show fics are because I like to keep them as canon as possible. Helps to improve the illusion of plausibility. _

_Speaking of: TWO MORE EPISODES TILL THE VERY END. Excited? Yes. _

_As always, feel completely free to review with pros and cons alike. Seriously. Feel VERY free. _

_Always my dear loves,_

_|ACP|_

Chapter 3: In making deals

In Rumplestiltskin's experience, making deals required an acute ability to rebound from unexpected variations. Like the merchant Lord's daughter, Belle. She'd been at the Dark Castle an entire _month_ and had thoroughly accepted her fate. The kitchen shone with an unaccustomed clean, the spnning room well dusted and the entrance hall mopped and organized, with even a boquet of flowers in a vase, because she'd thought they "brightened the place up". Very quickly he'd realized that no matter how many chores he gave her, she wasn't going to try and wriggle out of them. When he listed off her duties, she'd accepted them all with a thoughtful nod and respectful confirmation. He'd expected to have a snappy, rude comment at the very _least_.

But no.

The rich, priviliged girl had set straight to work, making tea and meals, coaxing herbs from the garden and constantly cleaning and offering up polite conversation. He began to wonder if something was _wrong_ with the girl. She was so content to work. And he could find absolutely nothing to complain about. Her meals, (after the first two or so) were delicious, her tea somehow the precise strength he preferred it, and her cleaning thorough and neat. She seemed to exude contented resignation. It completely unhinged him.

This, on top of her seeming complete respect for him, made him strongly suspect her of being a sociopath. The first day after she arrived, she served him just the right morning tea. He stared from her to it for a few moments, until she noticed and grinned. "It's not poisoned, I promise." she assured him, setting breakfast scones before him, accompanied by delectable smelling bacon and eggs topped with cheese. "And why not, dearie? You'd be free you know." he teased, pretending to scrutinize the little teacup he hadn't known he even owned. "Not really. We did say forever right?" she pointed out, barely holding back a smile. "That we did. Stuck with me forever, I'd poison me too."

Belle laughed and shook her head, unwittingly throwing a strong wave of rose-scent over him, accompanied by the odd and musty smell of old books. "I hope it's steeped long enough, I didn't know how strong you liked it." she went on apologetically, rubbing her hands on her dress as though suddenly afraid he might smite her for watery tea. What a terribly amusing idea. He took a tentative sip and found it not only exactly as he liked it, but just the right temperature to be drank with ease. "I just made it how I have it, I can make more differenly if you want-" she began to babble when he didn't say anything. Fearing that she might continue on chattering nervously, which was getting irritating very quickly, he eyed her skeptically and said, "It's just tea." Belle visibly relaxed, a relieved smile spreading across her face. The resulting effect was like a ray of golden light. _Probably just that fancy dress_, he reasoned. That reminded him. She'd need different clothes for daily wear. Maybe he should get around to that.

Eventually.

She excused herself to tend to her other chores and he sipped his tea thoughtfully, realizing that this particular conversation had been their longest yet. The entire day before, he'd suffered through her polite respect. This casual, laughing Belle was much more tolerable.

Now a month later she sat with him as he ate, asking informed questions about his work, speaking her opinions on whatever deals he was immersed in that week. "Do you ever get tired of dealing?" she asked, stealing one of his lemon poppyseed scones and tucking her feet up under her on the chair beside him. "Never. The people though dearie, I could do without them." He gave her a pointed look and she rolled her eyes. Rumplestiltskin only pretended he couldn't care less. The people were fun to mess with and the deals always tipped in his favor. Just look at this one. In exchange for a problem _he'd_ started, he'd gotten an entertaining housekeeper, one that seemed interested in his workings and was willing to keep him company. _Not a bad outcome_. Even though he still liked the other deals he'd been hoping to make through her, he had come well enough to terms with the fact that he was more or less stuck with the girl for the rest of her life.

"Well I think you'll get tired of it _eventually_." She reasoned, and he smiled. "300 years. I've not got tired yet." He ignored the surprise practically shooting out of her and set about taking a scone for himself, buttering it and somehow maintaining his composure. "_Really?_ 3oo years?" she asked, aghast. And then her demeanor changed and she squinted at him, half-grinning. "Oh I see. You're lying again." He just munched his scone in a dignified manner, pretending to ignore her. "You _are_! Fibber." She laughed anyway, and he didn't have the heart to tell her she was wrong. "Don't you have curtains to dust?" he asked, faking irritation. "Don't you have gold to spin?" she retorted playfully, the wicked glint from her childhood back in her eyes. Rumplestiltskin sent her off, swatting at her and closing the door as she left the room, still laughing.

Yes, in making deals it is _very_ important to adjust to variations. Especially the ones that make excellent scones.


	4. A cry and a chance encounter

Spun with Gold

_A/N: I 've figured it out! So last night's episode made me cry so hard (yes I cry at TV shows, shut up), and then... INSPIRATION. I know what I'm doing with this story now, but I'll have to be busy to catch it up before next weekend, which, for those of you who aren't caught up is the FINALE. So get on it peeps. The one-shots with Rum and Belle will continue, I promise, and start stinking of a plotline really soon, but there's also going to be the "real-world" plot coming out as well in small snaps of Storybrooke. _

_ As always, all my readers have all of my love, and my reviewers have all my bubbly happiness. _

_ Always,_

_|ACP|_

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Chapter 4: A cry and a chance encounter

They were calling for help. The people of Storybrooke that walked around the damp, overcast streets and were blissfully unaware were practically screaming for it inside. They passed in and out of Mr. Gold's store, like specters, coming with small unexplainable objects they'd found lying around their houses, systematically selling off all of their past lives and bartering for their newfound bliss in unfair deals and agreements that reeked of their fear. Regina lorded it over them as Mayor, strutting about the place with that self-satisfied smear of lipstick that was her grin. He had helped make this real. The world had been here before, this "reality" to which they all clung to so desperately now, but the people had come out of the blue. Even the town had been fabricated to fit Regina's specific needs. It seemed like every day was a monotonous dream and he was just slugging through it, waiting.

Mr. Gold had developed a keen sense of patience over the years. While his grit and ability to abide by the conditions life sent his way had worn down through time and his waiting, an odd sense of purposeful patience began to fill him, starting at the handle of his cane and slowly going up to the tips of his hair. This was not life's doing. It was Regina and that brat of hers. He kept himself busy, of course. For the first year or so it had been going around to re-establish his deals, to keep tabs on people and be sure that certain ones were adjusting in certain ways. A favour to the Queen. And then, as time went on, he couldn't help it. The looking. Looking for a sign of Her, a scrap, a left-behind note or even a small rose petal left in his teacup like she used to do near the end. He should've known then.

Stupid old man. Her father was there, crying and screaming in his subconscious for Rumplestiltskin's help, for him to bring her back to the undeserving, ungrateful, loathsome imbecile of a florist lord.

But by far, the one who cried out for help the loudest, was the one that shouldn't have even been there. The boy that was a gift, a side-deal that he had made in a stroke of brilliance, an experiment to see if people could be literally reincarnated into this "real world". His name was Henry, after the Queen's father, the sacrifice she'd made to wreak her unholy yada yada on the "good" people of their world. He was a lively boy, with dark brown hair and brown-green eyes, and had been procured using some of the last vestiges of magic that Mr. Gold possessed. Henry needed, of course, a birthmother, seeing as good ol' Regina was time-locked with the best of them and couldn't go through the motions of pregnancy as long as that clock sat still like it was supposed to. Just take little Cindersoot down the drive. She'd been pregnant for on eighteen years when the mayor's replacement family was born, far, far away from Storybrooke to a young woman of eighteen, a young woman named Emma.

And if Regina was the lock, then Henry was the key. Emma was the knob to the door of their world, and as long as Henry was alive and _her_ son, she would twist and open up their world for him. This plan was almost too dependant on the fact that Ms. Swan would be like her mother, the noble and forgetful Snow White, but he'd still gone through with it. After all, a slim chance is a chance all the same. And any hope was better than staring out the window and imagining the two very different loves in his life being gone forever with no hope of ever returning. He'd lost one for sure. The other he was going to find as soon as the curse was broken, find and keep safe because the wrath of the defeated Queen towards him would be something impressive. This was assuming, of course, that she wasn't killed in the blood the storybook people would be calling for. _For fairytale creatures, they can be quite violent_.

Henry wanted to find Emma. Mr. Gold could sense it, could practically _smell_ the boy's desperation for his birthmother, and he couldn't really blame the child. If he'd had Regina as an adoptive mother, he'd have combed the earth looking for his real one. And all at once the plan was in motion. The book Mr. Gold had eased into "Mary Margaret"'s possession early in their time-lock had found its way into Henry's hands, and the seed was planted. It had been almost too easy to distract the girl so that Henry could sneak one of her credit cards. All this, without the boy's knowledge. In the event of the plan's failure, he had to be able to claim innocence with no trace or weak link. A specialty in his trade.

He knew when the boy went missing. There was little in Storybrooke he _didn't_ know, and so when Regina's precious son went running off through the town's impenetrable borders, he got not only a raging Wicked Queen in his shop, worrying her fancy haircut out, but also the first inkling his plan was falling into place.

_** "We made a deal!" he shrieked, clawing at the cage. This was essential. He must know. "I want her name! We had a deal! I need her name!" Snow White and King James stopped as he raged, frantically screaming down the craggy hall. "Her?" James asked, turning around and looking at him with disgust. "It's a boy." The king turned back around, but Snow didn't move. The miracle of mother's intuition had never failed him yet, and no kennel the royals thought to confine him in was about to change that. "Missy! Missy! You know I'm right." he cooed down the hall, and he could feel the Queen's knowing. It was like rosehip tea, steeped just long enough in a nice porcelain cup. It called to him. "Tell me." he said gently, and the Queen still remained in place. "What's her name?" **_

_** Queen Snow White turned half-way around, and her face was full of her pain for the girl. But she was honest as she was beautiful, and would keep her word. **__Fairest in the land but one. __**Even dead, She would still win any contest against this soon-to-be mother. "Emma." Snow said in a low voice, and her eyes flickered, as though she had just figured this out but still knew it to be true. "Her name is Emma." The Queen left then, and her King followed her, as did the light. Rumplestiltskin repeated the name, again and again, working it into the curse. Emma, Emma, Emma...**_

Mr. Gold now had only to wait for the boy to return to know if his plan was to work or fail. The girl would have to come back with him to start the clock from its place at 8:15, to start the wake up call the crying town desperately needed. And such was the way of fate that he was picking up rent at Granny's when he saw it.

A stranger in Storybrooke.

A lovely stranger, with long blonde hair and a harrowed face, wearing red leather and brown boots, renting a room. He'd come in the back door, seeing as it was technically his house, and had heard it. "'Scuse me, I'd like a room?"

"Really?"

Business had begun then, with Granny bustling about giving off preferences and taking down her order. Intrigued, he came into the front room and laid eyes on her just as she said, "Swan, Emma Swan."

"Emma." he said, unable to keep his curiosity and wonder from his voice. _So easy. _The girl who had somehow turned into a woman turned around to look at the speaker and he continued. "What a lovely name." She seemed a little unnerved, but took it in stride, thanking him for the compliment and turning back to Granny, who drew a wad of cash from her dusty desk's drawer. Where she got the money every month, he didn't know, and didn't care. "It's all here." she said, a tinge of fear in her stony old voice, glancing at the money as though it were poisonous now that it was his and she held it out for him. "Yes, yes of course it is dear, thank you." The money changed hands directly in front of the now skeptical savior child's face, and he observed her with amusement. She didn't look promising. _But then, _he thought, _Usurpers never do. _"You enjoy your stay. Emma." The words were so familiar, the name rolling off his tongue as though it were his own child's. He'd said it enough times over the years.

As he left the inn, he caught Red Riding Hood's eye and gave her a small smile. He respected her dark primal attitude. It was a quality he well admired, but didn't associate with. He stood on the front stoop, knowing Red Riding Hood was watching after him to see if he'd leave. But he was listening. Today was important. These words were important. Over the hedge, his eyes found the old clock, and as the words left the old woman's throat, the clock changed. _8:16. Welcome to Storybrooke._

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_A/N: GAH. Well. That wasn't what I planned at ALL. But whatev's. Rewatched the first episode, in case you couldn't tell, cause of that funny canon concern. Hope you enjoyed. Read, Watch, Review._

_Also, still having trouble getting the tab button to work EVER, so if you have any advice, I would be very willing to take it gladly._

Arrivederci my ducklings.

_ |ACP|_


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